


End of the Line

by Danudane



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14499015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danudane/pseuds/Danudane
Summary: (Jacob has a rough day. Whump prompt fill for a friend on tumblr. WIP!)





	End of the Line

Jacob had, unlike Evie, been proud of his last few plans when it came to dealing with the Blighters.   
Going straight from his nearly empty round of drinks at the local tavern and diving onto the nearest carriage was not one of them.   
He’d been tipsy in a fight and handled himself before, though. How hard could a drunken carriage chase be? 

Jacob did not realize how bad his perceptions were off until he couldn’t seem to decide whether the cart he was in was being pulled by one horse, or two.   
The angry and surprised shouts from other drivers came in at a close second, as many of the unlucky commuters were nearly driven off the road themselves. 

To be fair, though, it hadn’t /all/ been Jacob’s fault. He had not been the one to start the chase, having seen and heard his own men~oh, the lovely and loyal Rooks~ take chase after a particularly wanted band of Blighters.   
A couple big, ugly, brick walls of men and their cunning “sister” had taken out two well loved Rooks, and the gangs had played havoc in the streets since. 

Jacob, never passing on a chance of making sure someone ‘got what was coming to them’, had not hesitated to join in on the chase.   
And here he was, barreling down the streets and away from Whitechapel in a stolen carriage.   
The horses- two, he was fairly sure this time around- whinnied in panic as they weaved through traffic. Their hooves pounded against the cobblestone street, and scrambled for purchase as their inebriated driver pushed them hard around a corner in an effort to catch up. 

“Come on, just a little more!” Jacob lashed at the reigns, too enraptured by the thrill of it all to realize he was going much too fast. 

It did not help that the Blighters he had been chasing had grown far more daring than usual, not hesitating to bash their own carriage into the others driven by the Rooks. 

The younger Frye did not slow, even as his Rooks’ were forced off to the side of the road, or skidded to a rough stop as their wheels gave out.   
He could catch them. He /would/ catch them. They’d pay for it this time—

And they did, but not in the way anyone had been expecting. 

Maybe it was an uneven paver stone, or a slick spot in the road, but the last thing Jacob remembered was everything coming to a very violent and abrupt halt. Splintering wood and screaming horses, and then darkness. 

-

It was not a pleasant way to come around, unable to discern what was up or down.   
A pounding headache and blurred vision did not help either, nor the fact that he felt like he was stuck. 

Jacob groaned, only one of his arms complying when he tried to move.   
Only then did he tried to pull himself upward did an all encompassing pain bloom through him, originating in his side.   
Whatever shock had worn off and his body had realized there was something wrong. Terribly wrong.   
A hoarse gasp made it past his lips, and he hoped the metallic taste of blood in his mouth wasn’t a product of the pain in his side.   
Unscrewing his eyes, he shook in agony as he forced himself to look down and assess the condition he was in. 

Not good.

“B-bollocks...” He choked out, an unprompted cough wracking his body with another wave of pain. His free hand wrapped around the source- a shard of wood- that had erupted out of his lower side. 

Blood had already begun to stain his vest and coat, sending a cold shiver through Jacob as he imagined himself bleeding out here, in a pile of wreckage. 

In truth Jacob was surprised he was able to think at all, the pain gripping him tighter with each passing moment. All attempts to control his breathing had gone for naught, with short and raspy breaths his only reward. 

A cold sweat spread across Jacob’s forehead, his battered form settling jut as uncomfortably back against the broken wood and metal of the carriage.   
Jacob hated the whimper that slipped through his mouth as he tried to move his left arm, which he was beginning to expect was broken...perhaps dislocated, if he was lucky. 

The concept of luck seemed alien to him, at the moment.   
Another cough shook him and this time the pain tore a cry from his throat, flecks of blood decorating his lower lip. 

Breathing soon became harder to bear, each intake adding to the fiery torment that wracked him. 

“E-Evie...” He wheezed, a nearly silent cry for help. That somehow, somewhere, his sister would hear his call. He knew he would never hear the end of this one, if he lived.

With the way the cold was seeping into him, however, he was not too convinced he would make it out of this one.   
Jacob had always thought he would go out in some blaze of glory, not impaled in the wreck of a crash. 

He supposed it was the shock taking hold of him that had him shivering so visibly despite his weakness. In a morbid sense of curiosity he wondered how long it would last, before he passed out. The blood had begun to go tacky and cold around the wound, meaning it couldn’t be too much longer. 

“Well shite...”


End file.
